Measure A Year
by HC0
Summary: In daylights, in sunsets, in miles, in laughter, in strife. How do you measure a year? Years of Elphaba's life following from my story "Clear As Mud".
1. In Laughter

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire. The story mentioned at the end is, regrettably, from a book of true stories.

* * *

**

"Elphaba!"

She froze. Please, please, please no.

"Elphaba!" her father called again.

Dreading, she set aside her book (she couldn't really read it yet, but it was about the stars, and the pictures were gorgeous) and dragged her feet to his office.

The Governor was ensconced in his leather chair behind a desk the size of a mountain. Elphaba was tall for a five-year-old, but it still seemed to tower over her. She stopped at a distance that allowed her to stand stolidly in front of him, glowering.

"Wipe that look off your face, girl."

Even after all these years, that tone still hurt her. she relaxed her face about a millimeter. "Yes?"

"You know how old you are, don't you?"

Since her mother had died Elphaba's birthday had gone unnoticed, but Elphaba wasn't stupid; she hadn't lost track. "Of course." He said nothing, so she continued. "I'm five."

"Right. And although I'd rather keep you here to make up to your sister—" he always called it that—"according to law I have to send you to school. I could get away with letting you skip preschool, but no further." He paused. You start tomorrow." His face soured immediately; he didn't like it when his daughter's eyes glowed like that. "Now go!"

"Will I need anything?"

"Should I know? Go, before I thrash you!"

She scampered, nearly skipping. Her head whirled with happiness as she ran through all she knew about school. She wouldn't need anything but a lunch, as far as she knew, and she'd find out about anything else--_tomorrow_! She went to pack a lunch.

The help was cleaning up from breakfast when she came in. They averted their eyes. Oddly, Frex had never forbidden Elphaba to use the kitchen. Maybe he was hoping she'd somehow manage to kill herself. Probably. So nobody paid any attention as Elphaba climbed around, putting together a lunch. She made some extra food, so that if anybody asked she could say it was for Nessa.

For the first time in two years, that night she went to sleep excited.

* * *

She woke up suddenly and completely, when the sun was still rising. She jumped out of bed immediately and ran to her dresser. She didn't have many clothes, so it didn't take too long to dress. It took only slightly more time to wash and brush her teeth. All said, she was ready for school nearly four hours early.

Grabbing a piece of fruit for breakfast, Elphaba climbed out onto the roof. It was her special place, where she went when nobody else was around and she wanted to think. She could see a long way in all directions, and from this angle, at this time, she could see the rising sun. She still believed in a Heaven, although she doubted there was a place for her, and up here she felt at least a bit closer to her mother. Elphaba didn't _talk_ to Melena, exactly—she just sort of thought of what she would tell her mother if she hadn't killed her…. And she imagined what a mother might have answered back.

The sun was soon locked firmly in the sky and Elphaba could hear people starting to stir below, which meant that she had to go for Nessa. She got up here by opening a window and slithering up; she got down by way of the tree.

Nessarose was awake, if not full, when Elphaba reached her. Elphaba fumbled with one of the mechanisms on the crib, and the side came away on its special hinge, allowing her to remove Nessa. Elphaba cleaned and dressed her sister, and fed her. it was hard work, and slow and dirtying, but she never felt unfairly worked. It was the least she could do to make up, Elphaba thought, wincing inwardly as she buckled the tiny shoes on Nessa's atrophied feet. Besides, she was five and reasonably self-sufficient; Nessa had only just turned two; it wasn't like she could do much herself.

And it wasn't like Elphaba could do anything for her mother.

In time the nurse came to take over Nessarose, and Elphaba ran to the school. And there the trouble began: The Cornelius C. Kadmius School for the Proper Edification of Esteemed Young Ladies and Gentlemen—COCK, to the older students— was not only a school catering to classes preschool though senior; it was the most exclusive and obscenely wealthy school in the area, with the result that the enormous thicket of legs bumping Elphaba around the schoolyard was particularly snooty, and particularly less inclined to helping an unaccompanied green child, even one with a rank. Eventually, though, the crowd thinned, and Elphaba was able to push her way in.

The school was a maze. Corridors went everywhere, classrooms and offices were all over, and nary a sign to show the way. She looked around with growing worry—she'd be so late!—until, not looking at where she was going, she bumped straight into somebody.

"Sorry," she said, jumping back. The bumpee—a tall, desiccated-looking woman in an olive/snot/dust-colored suit—stared down her glasses. She jumped when she saw the green skin. "Why are you in the halls?" she demanded.

Elphaba sighed internally. "I'm in the first grade. I came alone," she said loudly and clear. "I'm Elphaba Thropp," she further prodded. "The gubernatorial daughter?" It was her newest phrase, always good for eliciting a response.

"Yes, yes, I know. Do you know who I am?"

"I can't say I do."

"I am Miss Malgen and I am the headmistress here. And you, young lady, should not be wandering."

"I'm not wandering," said Elphaba, "I'm trying to find out where to go."

Miss Malgen pointed. "Room 1-04, down that way. And you'd better scarper."

Elphaba ducked her head in thanks and scarpered, making it inside just before the second ring. There were sixteen other children in the class, and they all turned to see the new arrival who'd cut it so closely. The teacher turned too, and Elphaba immediately had a good feeling about her. The teacher looked at the register. "Elphaba?" she said.

Elphaba nodded.

"Good, I was wondering where you were." Actually, with the reputation, she'd been wondering if the girl had been withdrawn at the last minute.

"I got lost…"

"That's alright, it's a big school. But you don't have to stand there the whole year, you know. Put anything you have in that corner and sit down in any empty seat."

There was only one empty seat—the undesirable one in the middle, front row, right in the teacher's eye line. Elphaba took it.

The teacher introduced herself—Miss Selas—and Elphaba's first day of school began.

* * *

She didn't run home that day, though, to hug her father and tell him how much she loved school. First, he wouldn't care, and second, it was all too likely that he'd take her out. So she walked home slowly and rehashed the day in her head. It was only the first day of school, so they hadn't gotten that far. They'd reviewed the letters—well, _they'd_ reviewed; Elphaba had never had the privilege of any earlier education—, had begun some work with numbers—she loved that—and had gotten the books they would be using, which as far as she was concerned was the best part.

If her father asked her if she'd made any friends, on the other hand, it would be safe to answer. Elphaba had immediately been dubbed Apple-girl when they saw that she'd had the misfortune to bring a food that matched her skin. Lunch, therefore, had been spent in a corner of the classroom, observing the social dynamics of young children. She noticed the groups they fell into: color, status, boys against girls. She was young for her grade, but she thought that she acted older than most of them.

Frex, it turned out, had some piece of business keeping him, and he did not ask about Elphaba in the least. Elphaba took the opportunity to retrieve her book about stars from the library and drag it up to her room. She thought she remembered what sounds the letters made; perhaps now she could read it.

It was harder than it seemed. Not only were most of the words not spelled like they sounded, she didn't even know what a lot of them meant. After nearly half an hour, she'd only gotten through the first page of the introduction. It could wait, she finally decided, and after putting it in her schoolbag she went wearily to sleep.

* * *

The next day's lesson cleared some things up as they learned about different _sounds_ of letters. And there was even mention made of some silent ones. So while the rest of the children played mindless games during recess, Elphaba started to work through her book again. It was easier, this time.

A rubber ball hit her on the shoulder, and she jumped.

"Shoot the apple, Tilliam Well!" someone called, and another ball hit her in the back of the head.

It hurt, and so did the laughing, but she knew that the worst thing she could do was show any pain—and crying was completely out of the question; she hadn't cried in public since her mother's funeral, which she tried to blot out of her mind. She pulled a piece of grass and used it to mark her page. Then she closed the book, got up from her rock, and tried to dart away.

She was hit in the small of the back, and this time the ball didn't bounce. She turned around—it was an apple. She gritted her teeth and bent down to pick it up and defiantly take a bite.

The entire yard cracked up, with a few shrieks of disgust from the girls. It was hard to force it down, but Elphaba swallowed the apple and even made herself take another bite. She didn't know how much worse things might have gotten had they not then been called to come inside.

And so school continued. Elphaba's enthusiasm didn't decrease any, but she grew to dread recess. Lunch was spent in class, under the teacher's supervision, but come recess she had to go out and play—or rather, read (she'd long finished her star book) while the others played at tormenting her. The only advantage was that she got free apples.

She grasped lessons quickly, earning the admiration or the teacher and the title Teacher's Pet. Apple for the Teacher, somebody called her once, and the title stuck.

It wasn't only the first grade; the entire lower school knew who she was and what to call her. And _everybody_ in school, Malgen included, laughed when they heard about Apple for the Teacher.

The only one who didn't laugh was Miss Selas, and for that alone Elphaba was grateful. Indeed, she developed what was nearly a quiet worship for her teacher, who seemed to have the answer to everything under the sun. Had Miss Selas given the order Elphaba would have followed her under a waterfall, because Miss Selas was also the only one that seemed to _understand_ her.

In truth, the woman had been rather maltreated herself in primary school, and while she loved every child, she had a soft spot for the bullied ones. She very much liked Elphaba—the girl was smart and respectful and genuinely enjoyed learning—and after watching her in the schoolyard for several weeks she approached her as Elphaba sat on a rock staring into the distance.

"Elphaba, why aren't you doing anything?"

"I am."

Miss Selas looked at the kids in their groups on one side and Elphaba on the other. "What?"

"I forgot my book inside, so I am occupying myself observing the social habits of young humans."

Miss Selas laughed, and Elphaba stiffened—maybe she'd been wrong about her. The teacher saw that she'd done something wrong and silenced herself immediately. "I'm sorry," she said, and Elphaba's eyebrows rose a hair. Now _this_ was something different. "I wasn't laughing _at_ you. You're just not what I expected for someone your age."

Elphaba spread her green hands. "Of course."

"No, not the color. You're always reading, you pick things up so fast, and you speak like someone much older."

"I listen to a lot of older people."

"Still, picking up their words—that's unusual."

"I know I am."

"I mean that you're smart."

"Too smart, I know."

Did this girl _ever_ hear anything good at home, Miss Selas wondered, and then decided that she didn't want to hear the answer. She knew that the governor couldn't stand his oldest daughter, and that Malgen was no different, as were the other children. "No—you're just _smart_. As in intelligent. That's a good thing, Elphaba. What was it you said—"

"'Observing the social habits of young humans'."

"That's right. It sounded scientific, like you were describing animal behavior—"

"Of course I was."

"Well, yes. But it sounded funny being said by a six-year-old."

"I'm five."

"_Oh_."

Elphaba shrugged.

"Anyways, Elphaba, I've noticed that the other boys and girls aren't treating you very well."

"No one ever has," she said matter-of-factly. "Except my mother. They're not even the first to throw things. I just make people laugh or scream."

"That sounds like it could be really hurtful."

Elphaba shook her head. "You get used to it."

"But still…would you like it if I talked to them?"

"I don't think that would help very much. They already think I'm a teacher's pet," she said.

Miss Selas put her hand on Elphaba's shoulder again, and this time Elphaba let her. "I'll think, okay?"

"Okay." Elphaba didn't say any more, but gratefulness was apparent in her eyes.

Several days later the first grade class of 1-04 finished the story they were reading, and as was their habit, they discussed it and, if they had one that related, shared some personal vignette. Discussion was generally lively, with much interruption, but they all quieted down when the teacher started to speak—she may have been on Apple's side, but she _was_ the teacher, and very likable to boot. Miss Selas related a true story she'd read—a boy had drawn his whole class—sans one boy—into playing a joke on another boy—whenever he came in, they would all start laughing and then stop. The boy that the joke was being played on grew so hurt that one day he climbed onto the roof of the school—it also served as a playing field—and threw himself off. He hadn't survived. It was all explained in the note he'd left….

Sixteen pale faces and one green one stared back at her with a mixture of horror and fascination.

"I know a lot of people would find this too scary for first grade, but I think you're old enough, and besides, you've all read or been read books with much worse. And I think it's important that children should know the consequences bullying can have."

She said no more, and didn't mention anything or anybody specific, but the point got across. Elphaba still got more laughing than she'd ever gotten at home, but it decreased after the story, and at least they stopped throwing things.

Elphaba decided that teachers were good.


	2. In Inches

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire. **

* * *

Over the next several years Elphaba became firmly installed as the brilliant loner, and told herself that she was fine with it—people ignoring her was better than people throwing apples at her, and she tried to enjoy what time she had to be her own person, for she knew that as soon as Nessa started school Elphaba would have to tend to her. As usual.

If Elphaba concentrated purely on the school part she did love it—there was so much out there to learn, and she was actually learning it (helping her to better understand the books she read). And whatever the students may have been like, the teachers were all wonderful.

It was the society and the home part that she dreaded. The students, for their views, and going home, for to be ignored by her own father was far worse. And Nessarose still required a lot of care, which Elphaba was required to give her.

She wondered what it would be like to help Nessa through school, and how to manage it.

However, Nessarose did not attend the preschool either, but out of attachment rather than apathy—Frex didn't think his precious was ready for the world yet, and he kept her with the nanny another year, so Elphaba had another year to herself.

And then, at the start of the next year, things took an unpleasant twist: she was to be skipped a grade up, Elphaba was told (perhaps her teachers had tired of her correcting them), which meant that she would be in the fifth grade, and a whole floor away from Nessarose. Try as he could, Frex realized that resuming the arrangement was impractical and impossible, and so settled himself with yelling at Elphaba. "And furthermore, Miss So-Smart," he finished, "you will be keeping up those grades, and that means _all_ study, and no playing! I want to see you working this entire year."

Elphaba nodded. "Yes, Father." He didn't seem to know that she had no friends to play with, and that she spent most of her time reading anyway.

The first day of school came, and instead of running off early Elphaba had to get Nessa out of bed, prepare her for the day, give her her things, and maneuver her into her wheelchair, which she then had to push to school while carrying both backpacks (Nessa's legs were too weak to support her own, Frex had instructed). For the next few years until she was closer to her sister, Nessa would have an aide, but one who would not arrive until about the same time as Elphaba and Nessa.

As they entered the schoolyard, Elphaba realized how much harder it was to push her way through the crowd of COCKs with a wheelchair. "It's not always this bad, Nessie," she assured her wide-eyed sister. "After the first day half of them are expelled or truant or late anyway."

Nessarose had never gotten up so early in her _life_. "Why can't _we_ get up earlier?" she said petulantly.

"Because this is the latest we can get up if I have to be taking you to school." Elphaba had had to wake up even earlier, but no need to mention that to Nessa—she'd hurt her little sister enough.

She brought Nessa inside and found out where she was supposed to go; the aide was waiting and so Nessa was delivered into her capable hands with a kiss and the assurance that Elphaba would do her best to be back by lunch.

"And recess?"

"It's a different time for me, Nessa. But I'll do everything I can to be here with you for lunch. I promise."

Nessarose nodded, and Elphaba hugged her and ran upstairs to her new classroom. So this was the second floor. Not much different, but a whole array of new (and bigger) students. There were already some fifth-graders in the room, and they all turned around and jumped as she came in.

"What're _you_ doing here?" asked one girl. "Aren't you in the third grade, or something? Green seeped through to the stomach?"

"I believe you speak of the brain," Elphaba said as she took a seat in the front, because they were all inches taller than she. "And I was in the third grade last year, but advanced this year."

Whistles of mock surprise all around.

"Do we bow?"

Elphaba opened her mouth to respond—even though she knew better—just as a new bunch came in. Their attention was called to Elphaba.

"But not an egghead," advised one boy. "Eggs are _white_. She's an _artichoke head_! Get it? Artichoke? Green? Head? Green artichoke head?" He collapsed at his own hysteria and everybody else pestered until the teacher, a man that looked intelligent (Elphaba was thankful, although she knew herself not to judge on appearances).

The class was called to order and lessons begun. Elphaba found them to be more challenging and thus, far more enjoyable, and had a lovely time until lunch, when she had to gulp down her sandwich on her way to see to Nessa.

Nessa was full of excitement, babbling over people and places.

"And the lessons? Do you like that part of school?"

Nessarose shook her head. "Too hard. Have to think. But…"

So Nessarose aroused the pity of all the teachers ("such a sad, sweet little girl! Poor thing…") while Elphaba acquired their cautious admiration and a new set of classmates to be shunned by. Elphaba came down at every opportunity to see what she could do for her sister, and there was always something—Nessarose could not find her lunch; Nessarose was in the sun too much; Nessarose had had a dispute with a friend (she had many).

At home it was the same, as Elphaba was the one to help Nessarose with any homework she didn't understand—which was most of it. Elphaba wasn't sure if Nessarose was merely slow or lazy or truly dull, but she knew that telling Frex such (she was actually surprised that he didn't have her do the work _for_ Nessa) would be completely futile. So she continued to help Nessarose while trying to keep up with her own work and trying not to fall asleep in school if she hadn't slept the night before.

The year was one of the slowest she could remember, every day inching by. The fifth-graders were even worse than the fourth-graders, as they resented having some little kid come into their class knowing more than they did.

And Nessarose—Nessarose was overtaxed, having to actually lift a finger now and then, and came home whiny and tired and sulky and threw her pencil aside until Elphaba came to explain.

Elphaba had never complained in the past, as she had always felt guilty for being responsible for Nessarose's disability. Nor did she complain now, as she felt the same. But she did begin, inch by inch, to feel just the tiniest bit resentful.


	3. In Truths That She Learned

**Introducing a new element: the drabbles. Each of the longer ways to measure a year (the second list) will be presented as a drabble, representing not a year but…well, any bit of time, and in any person, on any character.**

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire. **

* * *

She'd thought that she knew the depths of human inhumanity (her mother's funeral…), but she realized now how wrong she was as she listened in horror to her teacher. A _massacre_ had taken place outside, with those Ponies; it had been utterly clear that the Animals were blameless, the whole class had seen it, and now they were listening to a lecture on how unacceptable Animals were in society.

Eleven was, perhaps, a young age to acquire a personal vendetta and life's mission, but at that moment, when she finally recognized the truth of the situation, Elphaba did just that.


	4. In Miles

**Alert to the few males in the **_**Wicked **_**fandom: this chapter contains puberty. If you are squeamish and/or incredibly immature, please save your snickering for elsewhere.**

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire. **

* * *

Milestones. Whatever. Just annoying changes, to her.

Nessarose's nurse, who in theory was nanny to both of them, had taken Elphaba aside some months ago for a "little private girls' talk." Elphaba had followed her warily, unsure of what this could mean.

It had turned out to be an introduction to puberty couched in embarrassing euphemisms, with reassurances that this was all normal and wonderful. "Even if they seem strange or scary to you at first, Elphaba, they are important. They mean that you're becoming a woman, for real. That you can have babies." The nurse paused. "You do know how that happens, right?"

If it hadn't all been so awkward Elphaba would have pretended not to just to fluster. But she didn't want to hear how this woman would describe sex, and so Elphaba merely nodded. "Completely." She hadn't really thought about having babies before. She hadn't really thought about babies, period (pun not intended). And she was absolutely uninterested in a speech about how they were made and her part in the whole matter.

The nanny sighed with relief. "Well, that's done, then," she said, "and I bought you anything you might need." She pushed a bag into Elphaba's hands and fled.

Elphaba's deepest instinct was to put the bag far back in her least-explored drawer, but her natural curiosity overtook her and she peered inside and immediately recoiled. She understood that all this was feminine, but did everything have to be so… _pink_? Or had the nanny simply chosen those colors because she was the sort that did? Elphaba resolved then and there that she would never wear anything with lace or little flowers, and that no matter how humiliating it might be, when the time came (and hopefully it never would) she would choose her own undergarments.

She suspected, anyway, that this talk was the worst part of the whole thing.

Once school started she was able to filch a textbook from a senior locker—they never went to class and so would not notice its absence—and received her education in more precise terms than "special events" or "you-know-where".

She had been an atheist since before she could count her years on one hand, but Elphaba prayed, just in case there might be a wisp of a deity, that this would never happen to her.

But because fate hated her, these changes did come, of course, and relatively early too. Her body, despite all begging to the contrary, ignored her mind and did what it wanted to. It did not help that the nanny noticed and tried, ever more, to talk Elphaba through it ("these are milestones, Elphie, and you should be very happy to be developing normally—" "_Please _don't say that again!").

Elphaba had no idea why in Oz other girls seemed so excited about all of this, and this opinion deepened when she saw the blood (what that blasted nanny would say, and right now she hated those bitches who bled for only two or three days starting from their mid-teens). Then she remembered another fact she'd read: she would have to endure this for about forty more years.

_Damn_.

* * *

**I'd like to call your attention to my dear project _In Love and War._ It doesn't show up when I update, for some reason, but I am indeed updating.**


	5. In Cups of Coffee

**I was too lazy to actually bother constructing a speech. And the limericks would have given me trouble.**

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire. **

* * *

Senior year was caffeine year, for everybody. Students walking around zombie-like with Ozofoam cups, trying to brush up their records before they had to send them in to the colleges. The local shops did a roaring trade in mind stimulants, and the drug dealers in everything.

Elphaba stayed clean, though, deciding to base her future on pure academic merit. Her father would pay for any university, she knew; he was that desperate to get her out of the house. So she threw herself into work, using every second to her advantage. Nessarose, knowing how important this was, showed a bit of kindness and for once made an effort herself.

The year crawled along, through classes and mysterious absences and several births and a plantation's worth of coffee beans. Sometime during the winter break nearly everybody contracted something called senioritis, and Elphaba began to be one of the only people to pay attention in class; nay, to even attend. The teachers, most of whom were ancient and had been seeing this happen for at least a century, sighed and resigned themselves to sipping from coffee cups and mumbling to whoever was there.

It was perhaps two weeks before graduation that a timid-looking sophomore knocked on a classroom door and squeaked that the Headmistress had requested to see Miss Elphaba Thropp in her office. Now.

Elphaba stood up, feeling quite confused as she tried to figure out what was going on. She had not been found in possession of spice (although at least three-quarters of her class had sniffed it at least once, she was part of the one-quarter); she had not been spotted reeling around drunk (never even gotten drunk); she was completely virgin; she had never made out with a teacher, male or female; she had not littered, anywhere, ever.

When Elphaba entered her office Miss Malgen, known amongst the students as the Head of COCK, shuffled her papers, pretending to examine them. "My my, Miss Thropp. You have very fine marks, both in school and on standardized tests. Very impressive."

"Thank you."

"Where do you plan to go after school?"

Well. She hadn't been sure, but she'd narrowed down her choices to several schools, intending to decide when she saw where she'd gotten in (everywhere, it had turned out). She'd applied on her own, but the acceptances came through the mail and Frex had seen them. And had he been even a shtickel proud of his daughter getting into some of the top universities in Oz?

Of course not. She'd been called to see him, told off for not consulting him, and informed that she would be accompanying Nessarose when _she_ went to college in several years. And (Frex hadn't said this part) with Nessa's grades, Elphaba probably wouldn't be going to any top-name school. Probably a place she hadn't even thought of applying to.

So she'd burned her acceptance letters in her bathroom sink and resigned herself to life as Nessarose's eternal caretaker.

"My father wants me to wait," she said. "Until my sister's ready, and then I'll be her…something."

Miss Malgen grunted and cleared her throat. Apparently she quite agreed, if only because she didn't like this green student. "Well, Miss Thropp, by all appearances you are your class's valedictorian."

Elphaba kept her face impassive, but her heart thumped painfully. She was the highest in a class of more than a hundred extremely smart (well, a few rich dunces) people. Perhaps, just perhaps, she might have finally done something that her father would be proud of her for? She tuned back in.

"…better that you not attend graduation."

She must have heard something wrong. "I beg your pardon?"

Miss Malgen repeated herself. "I said, I think it might be best that you not attend graduation. Oh, come on, Miss Thropp," she said to Elphaba's dumbstruck face. "You can see why, can you not? What with your…appearance…" she gestured. "And you know that you will be required to make a speech, and we as a school have all had the pleasure of hearing your somewhat…radical views?"

Somehow Elphaba managed to find her voice and drag it past the lump in her throat (where had that come from, she thought, trying frantically to tamp it down). "I don't see—"

"But unfortunately, Miss Thropp, the photogravures can. And it just won't look very good to have someone in front of the school who looks eternally nauseous. I'm just very concerned as to the image of our school. We all know that you don't keep your opinions very quiet, and I don't want our school to be seen as endorsing any of the—the_ lower_ groups—Animals, coloreds, homosexuals, morons, et cetera. That's just not in keeping with our school's values. Your diploma is in the mail; valedictorian is still on your record. I'm sorry, Miss Thropp"—and didn't she sound it —"but I don't want to see you at graduation. Do you understand that?"

Elphaba nodded.

"Then you can go back to class." Miss Malgen waved a spindly hand to the jar of ancient, rock-hard cough drops kept on her desk for image's sake. "Would you like a candy?"

Nobody in the jar's history had ever accepted, and this was one of the few cases where Elphaba followed the majority. "I think I'll pass, ma'am."

She completely ignored everything else as she left the office. There was a bathroom right down the hall and she ducked into it. The only two occupants were a pair of eighth-graders in deep discussion in front of the mirror, and they shrank against the sinks as an extremely angry-looking senior stalked in and slammed the door of the stall farthest away. Then they looked at each other and giggled.

Elphaba made sure that the toilet seat was clean and sank down, letting her head fall into her hands. The feelings that had begun to plague her of late—of futility, of uselessness and hopelessness, of some nameless terror—began to plunge in again.

Everything, everything that happened to her that wasn't _already _bad went astray! And there wasn't much good in her life to begin with…she ran through it all (she knew that she was wallowing in self-pity, but everyone deserves some now and then): She had been born green. This had led to her being hated by the world, to her mother dying and her sister being crippled and her father hating her even more. She remembered, for the first time in ages, being kicked out of her own mother's funeral—by her father!—and the events that had followed. She'd lost most of her faith in the good of the world, in anything, that day.

Then she had started school, which turned out to be twelve years of wonderful learning and awful torment at the hands of stupid students and feckless faculty. Summers had been spent taking care of her sister. School and being a nurse to a whiny girl who'd never quite grown up—that had been most of Elphaba's life so far as she could remember, all culminating in today.

Also, her bird had died last month.

As she reached up to brush some stray hairs from her eye (in fourth grade, one girl, being envious of Elphaba's hair, had simply reached over one day during science with her scissors and sliced off a handful; Elphaba had gotten in trouble) Elphaba realized that her face was wet. So now she was crying. _Crying_, for goodness sakes! When had she gone so weak that one tiny incident could make her break down?

But it's not just one tiny incident, something inside her mind said. Aside from possibly being the clichéd straw that broke the camel's back, it is the most blatant hate and unfairness you have ever been made to face, shoving it in your face that this is most likely all that you will ever receive in life. No happily ever after for you, Elphaba Thropp; if there is a god, it is using you as a toy to torture.

"I never asked for a happily ever after." She hadn't meant to say it aloud, but a quick inspection under the stall wall showed that the bathroom was deserted. Fine, then. "I've always known what life had in store for me; ever since I first saw my own skin I knew, and I wasn't expecting a—a classic love story or anything. I know what I'm getting and I've come to terms."

But she wouldn't mind a husband, she thought, or even a wife, if circumstance sent her that way. And children…yes, she wanted children, someday in the future, with the person she loved (there _was_ someone for everyone, even for her, she was sure of it—only, with her luck, she would never find them). People automatically assumed for some reason that she hated kids. That wasn't true. She wasn't baby-crazy, grabbing at everything under two, but she liked them well enough, and she certainly wanted at least one of her own (her body didn't stint in that respect; it wasn't stinting right now, which didn't help the turbulent emotions). But that was not very likely to happen, she thought bitterly, if she was so repulsive that simply standing up in front of a group of people would ruin the image of an old and respected school forever.

If life were life that cup of coffee someone had left on the windowsill, she thought, hers would be black and bottomless (actually, she drank her own coffee that way, but nevertheless). Futility of futilities, all was futile! She kicked at the toilet, leaving a very satisfying scuff mark, and left.

* * *

In her room that night Elphaba sat cross-legged on her bed, staring into the dark and seething. She hated the school and everybody knew it, but she had been looking forward to coming in one last time, to say good riddance. She had, for those few seconds, been hopeful that her father might be proud for once instead of furious and ashamed (why she still wanted his love she couldn't say, but she wanted it very much).

She ran through that afternoon's meeting in her mind, trying to figure out how she could strike back. She went over every expression; every word; every inflection—and then there it was. Completely unintentional, but absolutely perfect and true. Grinning (although less happy than vengeful), she grabbed her robe and went downstairs to the kitchen, where she brewed herself a mug of coffee that probably had more bean than water and would keep her twitching for the next month. She took it to her room and sat down at her desk with a sheet of paper and a well-gnawed pen. Oh, she would show that bitch all right….

Her entire graduating class (or at least, any members of her class actually present in class, which were few) and a good deal of the other students and faculty had seen Elphaba following her meeting with Miss Malgen the day before. They had always known the green girl to have a short temper, but they had never seen her eyes blazing like this before. She had finally reappeared in class an hour later, slumped down behind a pile of books, and doodled resolutely. Doodled, as it had happened, directly on the desk, vandalizing school property and leaving a deeply interesting depiction of fire, which several people tried to examine psychologically. Elphaba also came to school late the next day, which almost never happened, and a number of people held their collective breath, waiting for something.

They were to be disappointed: By all appearances Elphaba had gotten over whatever mysterious incident had affected her the day before and was back to her normal—well, normal for her—self. She listened, participated, and wrote only on her own paper.

"It's just that time of month for her," one girl told her boyfriend sagely. "It can happen to the best of us—not that I'm defending her or anything. I mean, seriously, you're totally messed up, sometimes caught by surprise, almost always—wait! Why are you leaving? Was it something I said?"

* * *

On the day of graduation one week, three days, one hour and twenty-nine minutes later, Miss Malgen found herself satisfied: everything was in place, there had been no embarrassing suicide, and the Thropp girl would be absent (her sister was so good—a pity about the chair though; she had heard that Elphaba had been responsible, a claim she did not doubt). At precisely the right time people were in their places and this year's crop of future plutocrats could enter.

Elphaba was amongst them. She had skittered in at the last minute and positioned herself behind a tall, large, and helpfully over-tanned student, and if anybody really noticed the thin figure skulking along, her face was so shadowed by the mortarboard that one could barely tell she was green. She had broken into the school the night before and rearranged the chairs so that nobody would notice the extra one she had added for herself. She'd broken _into_ her school so that she could clearly get _out_ of it. But she was in, and ready to have the last word.

As Miss Malgen, Elphaba sat back in her chair and allowed herself to drift. Speakers would come and leave, and she would not be expected to tune in for at least forty-five minutes. The principal, several Heads of Worthy and School-Flattering Student Organizations, some –orions of the non-valedict type. She napped for a bit.

Finally the school's resident golden boy—golden for money, of course—stepped away from some blather about opportunity, and the Head of COCK opened her mouth again: "Well, I have indeed anticipated hearing some words from our valedictorian, Miss Elphaba Thropp. However, regrettably, Miss Thropp cannot make it today—"

Elphaba bounded up from her seat. "No, Ma'am. Whatever you heard must have been some misunderstanding; I'm here. I know _I _never said that_ I wouldn't come._"

So help her Miss Malgen couldn't show anger at Elphaba's presence in front of everybody. Instead she bared her teeth and said, "Oh, I'm so sorry. And so glad you were able to make it after all…" She stood back with a look suggesting severe constipation, and Elphaba took her place in front of the school, in front of everybody. This was her chance to speak, after all.

Elphaba readjusted the cap so as to give a clear view of her face. She'd been born green; she was used to it if not appreciative, and she could suffer a few gasps to make an enemy _really _suffer.

She had had fun constructing the intricate speech (it included a series of embedded limericks spelling out something extremely dirty), intended more as a way to subtly vent and curse the school and society than anything. She had been sure to use her thesaurus well, and as she spoke she saw brows wrinkling around the room. Most were from confusion, but she thought she saw a few displays of dawning comprehension.

There was a polite applause as she finished her speech, and then the ceremony progressed.

As soon as the last graduate had moved out of hearing range, Miss Malgen cornered Elphaba. I want to know, Miss Thropp," she hissed, "_exactly what_ you think you were doing by breaking your word and coming here!"

"I broke no word, ma'am," Elphaba replied inoccently. "As I recall, I never said that I would not come."

Miss Malgen blinked. "Miss Thropp, that is a blatant lie. I told you distinctly that I did not want to see you here, and you agreed—"

Elphaba shook her head. "No: you said, "Do you understand that?" and I responded in the affirmative. I only said that I understood. And while it is indeed unfortunate that you saw me, I have no control over where you turn your eyes." As Miss Malgen shook here head, trying to comprehend it, Elphaba lifted her cap in a rather mocking salute and left the building.

Well, maybe she'd come back to bomb it sometime, she thought joyously. But Oz, it was good to be free!

**

* * *

As of Sunday June 14****th****, 2009: HCO is free. Thank you, G-d!**


	6. In Strife

**And now HCO is entirely done with high school!**

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire. **

* * *

Shiz.

It was better than she'd hoped for, although what was that saying? Even so, as she scuffed behind Frex into the nervous clusters of new students (she thought she saw one girl actually faint), Elphaba was glad just to have made it anywhere. True, she still felt rejected as Frex presented Nessarose with those beautiful shoes and Elphaba with the box, but at least she was here: finally, she was with a new crowd, and just possibly might be able to find somebody that wasn't revolted by her.

Unlikely, though; apparently kindness was only held in high regard if the person displaying it was beautiful and rich, as the only favor she received was from a beautiful rich person who had accidentally raised her hand trying to further her own situation.

The professors were, for the most part though, good. They were wary, but not patently unkind (this was the reaction of most of the educators that she'd known), and the Animal professors—Doctor Dillamond in particular—felt a bit more kindly toward her. After all, they were also victims.

Anti-Animalism. While Elphaba had not been blind to it, she had not been prepared for how strong the hate seemed to be as one got closer to the capital. It was as though causing strife between Animal and person was the main goal of the Wizard! How, Elphaba wondered, had this escaped his notice?

It was something else to think about in addition to her other problems. That squealing thing that lived in her room, for example.

Her roommate just _had_ to be a joke. Galinda Upland was like a caricature of herself. Within half an hour she had unloaded her bedding suitcase (she had many suitcases, including one specifically for shoe care products) and proceeded to turn one side of the room into a display of pink pillows and bedspreads and decorations. She also installed several new shelves, which she rapidly filled before complaining bitterly that she had _hardly any space _(here a look was cast at Elphaba's shelves and closet, which were sparsely occupied). Elphaba merely sat and watched in amazement.

After finally managing to find space for everything she had brought, Galinda turned to Elphaba. "Look, I'll just have you know that I _really_ do not want to share a room with you, but I have to because the Headmistress said so. But you are still an _extreme_ social liability, and I don't want to be your friend. My hair is so frizzy!" And on that note she turned to her mirror to remedy the situation before dashing off to entrance the rest of the dormitory.

A few weeks into the term things heated up even more: the graffiti on Doctor Dillamond's blackboard. There was general shock throughout the room; while many students despised the Doctor because of his species, nobody had yet been so blatant about it. Angry, embarrassed, confused, Doctor Dillamond had ended the class early, and Elphaba had left in a huff. And then proceeded to have a near-collision with a cart.

The cart in question appeared to be a carrying device for the very pink of privileged perfect prince. The prince in question seemed to be a child: after the first few snide comments about her skin (all to be expected), he decided that going to class would be a strain and instead made a party, where, after trusting a possible friend, she proceeded to be humiliated.

She wondered if all of this was even worth it. And then Galinda came on the case, that pushy little thing, trying to make up for what she had done. And to her surprise, Elphaba found herself responding; even agreeing—sort of—to Galinda's request to give her a makeover. Friendship, Elphaba thought: A friendship could come of this.

And then the next day.

It began badly, with a humiliating attempt to do her own makeup. Galinda had finally scurried over and explained to her, gently, the proper use of mascara (which made it a lot less painful, although Elphaba's aim still gave her a raccoon-esque look). It became even worse when she attempted Galinda's hair-toss in front of Fiyero, a move which failed utterly and got her onto an entirely uncomfortable train of thought involving why, exactly, she had even wanted to impress him.

Class had begun with Doctor Dillamond's astonishing farewell, an attempt to make a dignified exit. This was destroyed when officials burst into the room and grabbed him like—well, like an animal escaping from its pen. And to Elphaba's horror, she was the only one in the entire class that even seemed to have a problem. Everybody else seemed content simply to sit and watch as some new professor walked in as matter-of-factly as if their teacher had not just been dragged out like laundry.

Elphaba felt that familiar sensation in her—the stirring inside, the sudden relaxation and mental clearing that she now associated with a display of magic. She could control it somewhat now, what with Madame Morrible's private courses, but only so much. And once the lion cub was brought out, she didn't really want to control it.

So only Fiyero—she wasn't sure why—was allowed to be exempt from the spell she threw into the cluster of students nosing for a better look at the tortured animal. Being closer to the desk, he grabbed the cage and fled the room with it. Elphaba, still wondering why he was still moving, followed.

Somehow they managed to get outside without being spotted, and from there Fiyero went around to the woods. He stopped a few minutes in, in a clearing lush with poppy flowers.

"Not here," she said. "We need to find someplace safe."

He stared at here. "You think I'm really stupid, don't you?"

A short time ago she would have answered emphatically in the affirmative, but now she wasn't so sure. She fumbled out an answer, and ended up getting herself mired into an even more awkward conversation. What Fiyero must be thinking!

Oddly enough, he seemed to be thinking along the same lines, she realized once he had gone. Was it possible…could it be possible…but no. Not for her. Besides, her life would never hold up to love.

Galinda was not in the room when Elphaba returned, for which Elphaba was glad. She stared out the window for some time, contemplating, until she heard footsteps approaching, and she immediately got into bed and pretended to sleep.

"Elphie?" Galinda said as she came in. "I was just talking to Fiyero, and he told me to tell you that he wants to talk. With you. Now, of all things! Can you imagine why—Elphie?" She flapped Elphaba's bedspread.

"Go away. Sleeping."

"Not now, you aren't. Tell me, do you know why Fiyero would want to talk with you?"

Probably to play some prank on her. "I haven't the faintest. I'm not his kind of girl, that's for sure. Now leave me alone, Galinda, and let me sleep."

It was the next day, as Elphaba stood under a tree surreptitiously observing the Perfect Pair from a distance and telling herself that she was not jealous, that Madame Morrible came out to see her. A letter from, the Wizard, it was, inviting Elphaba to meet with him. All thoughts of Fiyero fell away from Elphaba's mind as she realized that this could be the chance to fulfill her life's goal. She would meet with the Wizard, and tell him the situation, and maybe, possibly, finally, be able to end all this strife.

It was not to be.

The Wizard, it turned out, was a power-hungry bastard trying to further his own fortune at the expense of other individuals, which in this case included outright bigotry. He was, in short, entirely the opposite of the man Elphaba had been hoping to see.

And it was the final straw.

* * *

**From this chapter on the full chapters will not necessarily represent a full year; I want to use particular events, and I really do have to try to keep to the context of the song.**


	7. In Sunsets

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire. **

* * *

Laughing madly, she soared on her broom through the conveniently open skylight and out into the sunset. Yes, actually flying off into the sunset. It made her laugh even more.

She laughed, though, so she wouldn't cry. She was leaving behind all the lying politicians, but she still saw Glinda's face In her mind, and Fiyero at the train station, and little Boq and even complaining Nessarose. All behind, abandoned by her, with no idea of what would happen. Someday, maybe, she might be able to return, but for now all that seemed to lie ahead was a dark tunnel of futile fighting.

She squinted as the sun burned into her eyes, drawing tears (it _was_ the sun). She didn't even know why she was heading west, but she suspected that t was the right way to go (unintentional verbal paradox). And the alliteration worked pretty well too: "The _Wicked Witch _of the_ West_." Not bad.

At least she had a reputation prepared, she thought. No thanks to Madame Morrible.

The broom sped up as the sun went out of her eyes, improving her vision. She saw a shed below that looked abandoned; perhaps she could rest there.

It _was_ empty, and she put a binding spell on the rickety door and made herself go to sleep.

The first day was painful. She had no idea what she was supposed to be doing, and far too often she even wondered if she should go back to the Wizard and apologize. Like that would work.

The sun set again, and this time there was no shed, so she curled up in the hollow of a tree.

The situation improved slightly as the days went on. She came into contact with some Animals, who helped her along the way. Her days became easier as she found things to occupy her, whether it was rehabilitating Animals or engaging in campaigns against the Wizard. But always, at the end of the day, there was a beautiful sunset, and it took her hope down with it. Left in the dusty twilight, she had nothing to do and all the time in the world to simply think.

She would get used to it soon, she thought, but three hundred and sixty-five sunsets later, she was forced to admit that it would probably be this way forever.


	8. In Daylights

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire.**

* * *

Even after watching a thousand of them, watching a sunrise from up in the western clouds always instilled in Elphaba a sense of awe with nature. She would be hovering on her broom in the mirror-blue night, feeling like a night bird with her cape blowing softly about her in the wind. Her sleep being short and disturbed, she would rest there for hours. Sometimes the stars made her feel lonely.

Then suddenly (no matter how hard she tried she always missed that first moment) there would be a strip of gray in the sky, rapidly spreading, and from there a soft glow, casting a pinkish light on the clouds. It was as if she were floating in cotton candy, she once thought wryly, or in the middle of Glinda's mind—but she had to block that out. Then gradually there would be a yellow-orange tint to the world, and then she would be bathed in fire as the sun suddenly appeared in the sky, rose-gold with a pink and orange rim, slowly rising. The great ball would hover for a moment, making her squint, and then (also too sudden to see) the entire sky would be light and the day had begun.

Elphaba didn't much like the daytimes. There was always much to do, what with her work with Animals and fighting the Wizard. And the occasional journey—for she could not help it—to the Emerald City, to spy on her friends. She was happy for them, she thought glumly as she watched a perfect couple rise to glory and become the love of Oz.

She wondered sometimes if the entire world had abandoned her; if she should even go on living this way. Then the sun would set and she would fly to a hideout. Eat a quick supper, roll up in her blankets and maybe sleep. But inevitably she would awaken from some painful dream or other, and fly away from it all, letting the wind do its best to wash away the pain.

Then the sun begins to rise, and color to return. Sometimes, in those moments of fire, she wonders if perhaps there is some type of god out there, for she cannot imagine any work of art better than this. There is beauty, and peace, and hope, restoring her almost forgotten belief that these things still can exist. She stores those moments away, and they give her the courage to keep going. She feeds off of it, moment by moment until it is used up.

But every time that happens, just when it hurts the most, the sun rises again, and she can survive another day.


	9. In Times That He Cried

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire.**

He had to get out of there, and fast.

Fiyero ran through the crowd, dodging well-wishers. Damn this whole situation. What had Glinda been thinking, engaging them without a hint? Well, nothing too wrong, he was forced to admit: by all appearances they were a couple.

Still, another face persisted in his mind, one he had been trying to forget for years: sharp and earnest and beautiful. Lost.

She was in an invisible spotlight, doing her own dance—

He had to get out of there, before they saw him cry.


	10. In Bridges He Burned

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire.**

A fairy tale: a handsome prince, ever fair and blue-eyed and blond, growing up in his life of privilege, a carefree existence to do as he pleased. Then to college, where he falls for a pretty blond girl, who ends up becoming a beautiful, glamorous sorceress. They become engaged, of course, and live—

He needed his happily ever after.

So he ran away with the witch. Threw away his reputation, his title and his sparkly blond, and went off with the enemy. Yes, he'd screwed up the story, but who cared? He had his princess, and that was what mattered.


	11. In Midnights

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire. **

* * *

Midnight was Elphaba's favorite time of day or night—it was really both, for one: an odd ambiguity that she adored. It was dark enough for her to move with more freedom. Plenty of people feared the night, but for Elphaba it was a time of calm. Sad as it might occasionally make her, midnight was when she could come out with no fear of being caught; go for a flight in the moonlight, stargazing from her broom; or simply sleep.

Many things had lost their wonder for her over the last few years, even the sunsets (they were pretty and gave her hope, but one could only stand so much optimism, especially when the situation was unbearably painful and lonely), but the midnights continued to captivate her, and she expected that it would always be that way.

Midnights passed, including several during the day when she failed. One dark one when she hovered over the Emerald City at noon and saw the engagement party. She'd flown to the Wizard, having nothing left to lose, and then the sun had risen, so to speak.

Fiyero….

They were stumbling blindly through the woods, but Elphaba's mind was still firmly in the Wizard's throne room. _He left her. He left her. He loves me. Loves me. Loves _me. She knew he'd changed; she'd been watching him for years. And she'd certainly nurtured a very soft spot in her heart for him. But that Fiyero had loved her for all these years—now _that_ was a revelation.

Lost in thought, she stumbled, and Fiyero turned around. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Fine. I'm fine. I've been doing this for the past four years, Fiyero."

A bit of embarrassment tinged his laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose so." He didn't stop staring at her. She was so beautiful in the lamplight…

Eventually she ducked away. They'd run away in the evening, and now she estimated it to be about midnight. Her calm time.

She was calm, now.

As Fiyero looked for a branch to hang the lantern on, she sank down onto a soft bed of leaves and pulled her boots off. There was no blister on her foot but there had been a nasty pebble in the heel of one boot, and it had scraped a good deal.

Fiyero turned around and his eyes widened when he saw her winding a bandage around her foot. "You're hurt!"

"Not much," she said as she fastened the bandage. "Just a small wound. Rock in my shoe."

"I'm sorry…" He'd imagined all horrible fates for her over the years, and now what made him feel awful was a little blood. It hurt _him_.

She called him on it: "Sorry for what?"

He shrugged, laughed a bit. "Well, you hurt your foot. And I'm sorry for you, and I kind of—" His words were garbling themselves, and he made himself shut up and sit down beside her. "You're alright now?"

"Fine."

"Okay…" He took her face in his hands and kissed her, long and deep. Her eyes flew open and her hands almost pushed his away instinctively, but then she relaxed and almost smiled and pulled him closer. Enjoy this while you can, she told herself.

One of his hands went to her breast and she felt a shiver run through her. She jolted away.

Fiyero quickly put his hand down. "I'm sorry," he said. He hadn't even meant to do that.

"It's okay…I just wasn't expecting it."

He didn't return his hand, though, and they lay together on the dry leaves, watching the clouds scud across the moon and stars.

"Fiyero?"

"Mmm?"

"Love me."

"I do already."

"No...no, not like that. I mean—could you—just in case something happens; in case we never see each other again, I just want—I want—"

He turned himself to look at her. "You want me to make love to you?"

"Yes." Her voice was very quiet, her cheeks a few shades darker. "But only if you want to also."

"No—I mean, yes, I do."

She smiled. "Well, then…"

His hands moved to the buttons on her dress, and she shook her head. "Not on the run," she said. "Don't want to get caught naked. Later."

Fiyero shrugged and moved his hands under her dress instead, pulling down the leggings she always wore. "Why the pants?" he asked.

"Security; I live in woods and I don't want any injuries or ticks, and I also do a lot of moving, and I want to stay covered up." Then she realized in what context they were speaking and laughed self-consciously.

Fiyero laughed too, and pushed up the skirt of her dress with one hand as he undid his pants with the other.

Elphaba's heart began to thud painfully. For an adult, she really knew appallingly little about lovemaking outside of the biological facts (and the occasional romance novel picked up from Galinda's bedside table when there was absolutely nothing else). She was sure that Fiyero, with his history, could more than make up for her, but she still found her own ignorance rather embarrassing.

Fiyero, for his part, had never been with a girl he loved—back before Elphaba he'd merely had plenty of carefree sex with any female that let him. He saw her expression and misread it. "You don't want to?" If it had been any other girl he wouldn't have cared, but this was Elphaba and he would wait for as long as she wanted to.

But she shook her head. "Now. While we can."

Fiyero saw how nervous she was and realized that she probably knew almost nothing of what was about to happen. "It'll be alright," he assured her. "It _will _hurt at first, but then it's going to be wonderful."

Elphaba nodded.

"And you know how I used to be; I know what I'm doing."

She smiled, very faintly, and Fiyero realized that it would be better to stop talking.

It did hurt—not horribly, but not so little either. Still, it was a lovely type of pain, and soon it stopped hurting and she understood what Fiyero had meant when he'd said that it would be wonderful. It wasn't just the physical part, but also the feeling of being joined so closely to him. She'd believed for years that he was her other half; now they were almost one, and getting closer to that point with every moment.

She heard him whisper in her ear again that he loved her, and then her arms around him, her eyes squeezed shut and she thought she might have cried out; anyway, it was the brightest midnight she'd ever experienced.


	12. The Way That She Died

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire. **

* * *

I'm dead. Or so I appear.

Actually, I'm sitting in a dark passage, waiting for Glinda to leave and for Fiyero to come. I wish I could tell Glinda—even when I hated her I loved her. And Fiyero…he told me that he wasn't exactly human, but I don't know what that means. Something like Boq?

I'll love him anyway, but I wish he'd come already. I have to tell him what I've learned; what we've made.

I learned, long ago, that everything that happens has an opposite, and while there's not a new death, there _is_ a new life.


	13. How About Love?

**Warning: Severe fluff ahead (blame Larson; he wrote the song)—brush teeth after reading.**

**Disclaimer: **_**Wicked**_** and all its accompanying everythings are the creation and property of Gregory Maguire. **

* * *

So she was green. It didn't matter. It had, months ago, but after much talk with Fiyero, Elphaba had come to terms with the possibility, and now that the baby was finally born all she saw in her daughter was something amazing. Still a bit slimy and bloody, with a distinctly battered appearance bearing testimony to her recent experience, the baby was, like all newborns, objectively ugly and Elphaba knew it. Still, there was something lovely about her.

Fiyero seemed to feel the same way as he put out a hand to touch the baby's face and said in a tone bordering on awestruck, "I can't believe she's really here." Only hours ago he'd known her just as an ambiguous shape; now she was lying quietly and curiously in Elphaba's arms. He'd thought many times over the last few months of how amazing it all was, but this really brought it home. "She's a person," he murmured to Elphaba. "Real little person, now."

Elphaba squeezed his hand—lovely, solid, human hand!—and said, "I can see _that_ much, Fiyero."

He grinned, a bit embarrassed. "Hey, it's our first baby; we can be kind of stupid this time around."

"No, _you_ can be stupid. I'll stay as I am, thanks. We're certainly going to screw up, and we need _some_ intelligence around."

"Not from what your face is saying to me."

"Which is?"

"You've just turned into mushy candy."

That did it. "I have _not_, Fiyero Tigelaar. I did not melt when that idiot girl threw a bucket of water at me, and I will not melt just because we have a baby now. I am the practical one in our relationship and I intend to stay that way."

Although how much had she succeeded at staying one way, she wondered. She had changed...a lot.

* * *

This had certainly been an interesting year for her, she thought later. From alleged Witch and Animal rights activist to Fiyero's lover to Glinda's enemy and back to Glinda's friend before supposedly dying; from Ozian emigrant to Fiyero's wife to Animal rights activist (a cause that would, unfortunately, always be needed) and now to mother. How would she categorize this? How did one categorize a year anyway?

Apply some sort of theme to it, perhaps. A way to measure it. How, then, to measure this one? All the events, all the roles…it had been so eclectic, and just thinking about it all made her even more tired.

The answer came to her just as she was drifting off: love. Her friend, her husband, her daughter. It wasn't the best way for all of her colorful life, and certainly not something she could hope to be constant, but it would be nice to have a few seasons of love.

THE END


End file.
